<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Tame Your Demons by spaceysev</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950726">Tame Your Demons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceysev/pseuds/spaceysev'>spaceysev</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acquaintances to Lovers, Angst, Choking, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Mentions of Blood, UnSub Reader, Violence, flirtatious reader, implied assault, post prison reid, reader is hot and she knows it, someone gets tastefully railed in the second chapter, unadulterated female rage, why do I excel at writing sin, wow I really hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:53:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,829</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceysev/pseuds/spaceysev</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The deal you have with Spencer is simple. You call him to take care of the men looking to take advantage of innocents on the street, and he comes to ensure you don’t kill them before he gets the chance. Unfortunately for the both of you, things don’t always go according to plan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. When I Call, You Come Running</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You see him before he sees you.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t hurt your feelings— it’s the norm, in any case, and it’s what typically happens each time you reach out to plan a rendezvous. Part of the agreement is that you get to set the location, and you’re always careful to pick places you’re comfortable enough to slip your way out of unnoticed in case he ever morals up and brings his team to corner you. To his credit, that hasn’t happened yet — though you’re not naive enough to give up on the idea that it ever will just yet — but never subscribing to uncertain chances was a lesson you’d learned a long time ago.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But you know you’re safe for tonight, at least. He wouldn’t be meandering around the bar for such a prolonged amount of time searching for you if there were rows of feds waiting to take you into custody as soon as you stepped foot out the door. It takes a full fifteen seconds before his wandering gaze finally touches on you, another three before the glint of recognition appears in his eyes, and by the time he’s straightening his spine and striding purposefully toward you, it’s been an entire minute. Damn. Someone was really starting to lose their touch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re late, Doc,” you simper, arching a brow as you knock back a hearty sip from your glass. “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Couldn’t be helped,” Reid huffs, crossing his arms over one another as he tries — and fails — to sidle up to you in a casual manner. You note the way he avoids touching the bar at all costs, how he folds in on himself like an exceptionally uncomfortable piece of origami. And then, of course, there’s the suit, far too dressy for a place so casual as the lively little bar nestled in the far side of downtown Georgetown. Jesus, the only way he would look like even more of an off the clock fed would be if his badge were superglued to his palm. “Getting away from the others without raising suspicion on such short notice isn’t exactly the easiest thing to pull off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well,” you chuckle, taking another sip from your glass. You make eyes at him, pointedly and conspicuously allowing your gaze to rake his lanky, suit clad frame head to toe. He looks good in the outfit he’s picked, the dark black of his jacket drawing the eye to the maroon button down he wore beneath it, and you marvel at the way his chosen color palette sets off his skin in the dim light. If Reid notices your staring or cares, he makes no show of it. Your ogling doesn’t bother him, not like it used to — doesn’t even make him </span>
  <span class="s2">blush</span>
  <span class="s1">, to your admitted dismay, though you suppose that makes sense. Spencer Reid is nothing like the sweet, shy boy he used to be. He’s not so wide eyed and naive anymore, though you’d never expected that to last very long in the first place. Still — getting a rise out of him had always been your favorite part of your arrangement. If you don’t get to keep that going, these meetings are about to become significantly less fun. “That’s the deal, isn’t it? When I call, you come running.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s the deal,” he mutters, nonchalantly waving off the approaching bartender. “And I came running. So who is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You jut your lip out into a pout, resting your elbows atop the bar before settling your chin against your palms, sparing only a moment’s thought for how low the neckline of your dress must be dipping with the switch in position before casting the worry out of your mind. Were any other man your company tonight, you might have felt more concern for your modesty, but Spencer Reid was far from being anything like most men, and, honestly, the day you caught him checking you out was the day you mentally marked another tally on your side of the metaphorical score board. “Why’s it always straight to business with you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No ‘hello’,” you go on, skirt riding further up your thigh as you cross your legs over each other. Not even a spare glance. </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>Damn</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">. “No ‘how are you,’ no admission of your undying love for me. If you’re not careful, Spencer, you’re going to start hurting my feelings.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No offense,” Spencer retorts, sounding particularly unconcerned with whether his words actually offend you or not, “but your feelings aren’t exactly my top priority right now. Arresting whoever this man is before you take it upon yourself to brutalize him is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well he’d deserve it, if I did,” you tell him matter of factly, swirling the contents of your glass as you pretend to be more interested in that than the eye-catching man just beside you. “This one likes to take advantage of young girls in clubs who accept drinks from strangers because they don’t know any better and still think there are nice people left in the world. Sometimes he keeps track, like it’s a game, and tries to see how many he can assault in a night, and this most recent time three of them made it home all right, but the fourth one turned up in a dumpster. So, yeah, Spencer, you’ll have to forgive me for figuring that if he ends up in a back alley with a couple of bruises and a broken leg he probably got what was coming to him, but don’t insult me by implying that I don’t know how to keep a promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If broken legs and bruises were all you left men with it wouldn’t be such a problem,” comes Spencer’s dry remark. “Unfortunately for the both of us, you seem to have a particular affinity for leaving men in comas.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An affinity with which Spencer was all too familiar, you knew — not because he’d fallen victim to your habit of enacting revenge for all those poor defenseless victims, but because he’d caught you in the act with someone else. Two years later and you still weren’t positive how he’d managed to track you down. Spencer had told you minimal things — that an acquaintance on the city’s police force had reached out for his advice on a mysterious case of incapacitated men turning up in dark alleys, rarely little more than a few minutes away from going brain dead. That he’d been surprised to realize you profiled as female, considering the amount of unadulterated rage your behavior presented. That he’d made the decision to do what he could to keep from turning you in provided you help him be able to do so with a clean conscience before he’d even found you standing over some man with a white-knuckled grip on a tire iron.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Give me your word that you’ll contact me first,</em>” </span>
  <span class="s1">he’d instructed, a shockingly small amount of hesitancy glinting in his irises. “</span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>Give me your word that from the moment you call me, I have twenty four hours to find you so I can take care of all those awful men the right way. If I don’t make it in that time frame, they’re fair game, but if I find out that you laid a finger on them before you called me, I’ll personally see to it that you do time for every single man you’ve hospitalized. Can you agree to that?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And you had. Partly because you had no interest in spending any prolonged amount of time behind bars, and partly because the odd sense of emotional recognition he’d gazed upon you with had been so unlike anything you’d ever been met with from another human being that you were essentially startled into instant complacency.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s in the bathroom,” you sigh, downing the rest of your drink and flagging the bartender down for another. More for show than anything else, though you know the theatrics aren’t strictly necessary. Your drink of choice while out with company is much more coke than it is rum, and after two years there isn’t any doubt in your mind that Spencer is aware of that. “Has been for a while now, as a matter of fact, because he’s pompous and arrogant and wants to make sure the bait is set right for the </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>barely legal</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">girl he’s meeting here tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t suppose you want to share with the class the barely legal method you used to figure that one out?” Spencer deadpans, plucking your new drink from the bar and draining a few healthy sips before you even have the chance to reach for it. </span>
  <span class="s2">That’s</span>
  <span class="s1"> something he’s never done before, though you suppose his repulsion to germs wouldn’t factor in one way or the other since the drink was fresh. But Spencer never indulged in alcohol around you, and was always incredibly careful to keep his guard up during these meetings. Either he was playing a different angle tonight, or something in him had drastically shifted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only if </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>you</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">want to share with the class why I’ve been tailing this guy for two and a half weeks while you dodged my phone calls,” you retort, never breaking eye contact as you grab the glass and tilt the rim to your mouth, in just the same place that Spencer’s had been. You think you see a vein in his neck pulse as you swallow, but you can’t be sure whether the lights are playing tricks on you, so you decide not to count it. “Not like you to leave an </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>innocent</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">man’s life in my hands.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spencer arches a brow, eyes narrowing as he searches your face for something you’re not sure about. “Not like </span>
  <span class="s2">you</span>
  <span class="s1">to wait to hear back from me before doing anything about it.” He pauses, then, and more to himself than to you mutters, “And I’ve never said they were innocent.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guess you’re right,” you mutter, shrugging a shoulder and leaning back in your chair as you let your eyes scan around the restaurant. The man you’re looking for is still nowhere to be found, and with the way your nerves are beginning to fray beneath Spencer’s all too calm and collected scrutiny, it’s hard to get ahold of your imagination as it barrels toward the worst case. “He’s still not back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s probably still in the bathroom,” Spencer offers, giving an unconcerned shrug of his own. “You said he was a primper.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been almost twenty minutes,” you shoot back, fixing him with a harsh stare. Normally you’d bother to be a bit more vivacious when speaking to Spencer, even in spite of your own irritation, but the sinking feeling in your stomach is making it impossible to pay attention to niceties. “That’s never happened before. Something’s wrong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure it’s nothing.” But even to you Spencer’s words sound hesitant, like he’s trying to convince rather than tell, and somehow his lack of confidence only serves to make your throat that much thicker. “He couldn’t have left already, you would’ve seen him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah, you would have — provided you </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>hadn’t</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">allowed every ounce of your attention to be monopolized by Spencer. You’d been so preoccupied with trying to appeal to his attention, so hung up on matching him wit for wit and taunting and tempting him with bared flesh and sultry gazes that, truthfully, </span>
  <span class="s2">anything </span>
  <span class="s1">could have escaped your notice in the last couple of minutes. Anything. And if some poor girl ended up preyed upon, if she ended up beaten or assaulted or </span>
  <span class="s2">worse</span>
  <span class="s1">, it wouldn’t be as simple as blaming the monster taking advantage of her. You wouldn’t even be able to blame Spencer for distracting you. No— the only person you’d have to blame would be yourself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s gone,” you breathe, horror a jagged knife twisting in your stomach. Your hands shake so badly that Spencer has to uncurl your fingers from around your glass so he can set it gently down for you. “God, he’s— I let him get away. He’s gone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t work yourself up,” Spencer insists, and if you weren’t sure your panic was playing tricks on you, you’d have sworn you saw his hand reach out to comfort you, just as you saw apprehension tensing his expression. Of </span>
  <span class="s2">course</span>
  <span class="s1"> the one thing it took to get a reaction out of him would be unbridled panic. “Listen to me, everything is </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>fine</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not for whatever girl he decided he liked enough to blow off his date for!” you hiss, and it’s a strain to keep your volume low enough not to attract the attention of any other patrons, but you manage. “We need to— Spencer, we have to stop him! He’s going to hurt somebody!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Spencer tries to calm you, quickly moving to his feet. You can’t get a read on the way he’s looking at you, can’t tell if he’s taking you seriously or trying to decide if he should make a phone call to he nearest psychiatrist, but he seems to be picking up on the urgency of the situation, so you make the choice to let it go. “Let me go check the bathroom to see if he’s still here. If he’s not there, then we can start worrying.” He turns, taking three steps towards the bathroom before spinning on his heel and coming back to say, “Just— stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as you watch his back as he makes the trek towards the restroom, you think about doing what he tells you to. Truly, you do. Spencer could walk into that bathroom and find the man you’d been planning to turn over to his custody and come back with him in handcuffs, unable to help leveling a handsome smirk at you by way of a silent </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>I told you so</em>. </span>
  <span class="s1">You could be panicking for nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But… if there was even the slightest chance that someone innocent could be in the worst kind of danger, was it really worth leaving their fate up to a coin toss?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You’re on your feet as soon as Spencer’s out of sight, beelining for the exit and dodging between other patrons until your legs have carried you out the door and immediately to the dimly lit corner of the block, lined with the closed shops and darkened alleys the man you were after would need to get away with the unspeakable acts he planned to commit. Even as you book it to stop what you know in your gut to be happening, you can’t help but to hope that Spencer had been right. Things would certainly be easier to stomach, were that the case.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, as you’d somehow known with sickening clarity, the closer you draw to the dark alley gaping between the buildings down the street, the more prominent sounds of a struggle become. You heard a man’s voice — deep and angry and enough to set your hands shaking and your mind blazing with fury — and then, beneath that, the muffled, whimpered cries of a young woman, the sounds of which were so pitiful that you didn’t need to have laid an eye on her to know that she was already sobbing. After that, all thoughts of Spencer effectively flew out the window. Suddenly all there was in your mind’s eye was you, some poor innocent girl having the worst night of her life, and what you were going to do to ensure that nothing bad befell her or any other girl ever again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey!” you screech, running head first into the alley. “Get the fuck off of her!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There isn’t any time to survey your surroundings, to take stock of the fact that the man you’d </span>
  <span class="s2">known </span>
  <span class="s1">would be out here was in the process of brutalizing a young woman — one who looked to be barely more than a teen, to your unadulterated horror — nor was there time to really assess what you were barreling toward. All you knew was that your body moved of its own volition, and it was much too late to think things through once you’d collided so forcefully with the assailant that you’d knocked him bodily to the ground. It was too late to second guess yourself now, to wonder whether it wouldn’t be smarter to wait for Spencer, who could actually, legally take care of this guy. The only thing that mattered now was getting justice for everyone who had been too incapacitated to stand up for themselves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>fuck?</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">” the man hisses from beneath you, but you’re already whipping around to get a look at the frightened girl staring down at you. Her eyes are rimmed red, tears trailing down her cheeks, and to your morbid relief, you note that she appears to have no more than an expression of horror on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You’d made it in time, then. By the grace of some higher power, you’d made it in time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s an FBI agent in the bar down the street,” you bark at her, struggling against the brute strength of the man you were trying — and </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>failing</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">— to keep pinned down. “His name is Spencer Reid. </span>
  <span class="s2">Find him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that was all you had to say before she was running off down the alley and out of sight, the mercy of her safety striking such a psychological chord that you were just distracted enough for the man beneath you to throw a punch that successfully manages to clip you on the jaw, causing stars to swim in your vision as a result.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he hisses, quickly pushing himself to his feet and leering over you with a sneer. It made sense that he was under the impression that he had the upper hand— were you anyone else, he likely would have, and you’d have been little more to him than a replacement for the target you’d just saved.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But you </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>weren’t</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">anyone else. You weren’t helpless, or defenseless, and you certainly weren’t about to let this lowlife get away with all of the things he </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>thought</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">he was. No — you were someone hellbent on making a lasting difference in the world, and if that had to start with this guy getting his head bashed in, then so be it. You were down a tire iron, but your rage was weapon enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You wait until he grabs at your shoulder, waiting for </span>
  <span class="s2">just </span>
  <span class="s1">the right moment as he fully extends his elbow before punching as hard as you can against it in the opposite direction, not pausing to hear the sickening crunch of his bone snapping before rolling to the side, jumping to your feet, and subsequently kicking out his knee with a high heel clad foot. His howls of pain are equivalent to music in your ears, but you don’t pause to revel in the sound before you continue on with enacting your justified persecution. In this moment, you aren’t yourself. You’re not sure who you are, as a matter of fact, but you know it isn’t someone willing to let this lowlife get away with the mass amounts of pain and terror he’s inflicted on so many innocents.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You like that, baby?” you snarl, letting your foot fly against his unprotected ribcage over and over again between sentences. “Does that feel good? Hmm?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—“ The man cuts himself off with a hacked cough, spluttering and moaning as blood trickles down his chin. You’re not sure if that’s because you’ve kicked him in the face without noticing or because you’ve done enough damage to have already caused internal bleeding, but you’re not overly focused on figuring it out. “You psychotic— </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>bitch</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">,” he spits, and the hatred he gazes up at you with is so potent that you can’t help the wicked grin that curls across your mouth in response.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s right,” you murmur, hovering your foot over the center of his chest for just a moment before digging your heel into his sternum. The harder you press, the louder he roars, and the louder he roars, the more you’re inclined to ensure that his screams continue. It’s a vicious cycle, but one you’re much too fond of to let go. “I’m a crazy, psychotic bitch because I’m a woman who stands up for herself and other women, and because I won’t let shitbags like </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>you</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">take advantage of us. Do you even know how </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>old</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">that girl was?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His face contorts in pain, hands flying to your ankle in an attempt to pry your foot off his chest, but with one arm out of commission and pain proving to be too much of a distraction, he doesn’t manage to make any significant progress in alleviating your attacks. “Fuck you,” he hisses, but even to your ears, the vulgar words sound weak and reedy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure you’d like to,” you shoot back, digging your heel in that much further. You wait until you see tears welling in the corners of his eyes before letting any of the pressure up, and when you’re sure he’s hurting too badly to try and pull a fast one on you, you step off his chest and kneel to the ground, straddling his torso before your hands snake up to form a necklace at his throat. “You’re not used to girls fighting back, are you? You’re not used to anyone putting up a fight, and because of that you think you can just take whatever you want. Is that right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes bulge out of their sockets as you begin to squeeze, hissed obscenities caught in his throat with nowhere to go, and the more he claws at the manacles your hands form, the tighter you let your grip become. It’s power, what you feel as you reconcile with the fact that you’re now quite literally holding this man’s life in your hands, and for a moment, you forget everything else. That you were only in this situation because you’d set out to save someone, that you’d sent that very same someone to go and fetch Spencer to come resolve all of this, that you </span>
  <span class="s2">weren’t </span>
  <span class="s1">an angel of death enacting revenge upon those who rightfully deserved what was coming to them. All those things washed away in the night, in just the same way as the beginning rainfall washed the man’s blood onto the ground in runny pink ribbons. It was only you and him, now. Nothing else mattered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, it’s men like </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>you</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">,” you snarl, squeezing so tightly against his throat that your knuckles go white and your fingers stiff, “that make people afraid to walk home alone at night. To send their kids off to college, to let their little ones grow up and experience the world. Because there are always— </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>always</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">monsters like you just </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>waiting</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">to take advantage of us. And no one’s ever made you pay for that, before, have they? That’s why you’re still so cocky, and confident enough to pull this shit out in the open because you know you’ll get away with it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Distantly, in the back of your mind, you think you hear someone calling your name. It’s hard to say for certain; with how focused you are on enacting revenge, on making sure this lowlife feels every single ounce of pain he’s ever managed to inflict on another unsuspecting human, your senses aren’t left with much more of an attention span. Even if they had been, you wouldn’t have bothered using it. Your fury, burning your nerves like hellfire, proves such a strong beacon of desire that you have no choice but to indulge. It feels </span>
  <span class="s2">good</span>
  <span class="s1">, the way his breath catches beneath where the heel of your palm digs into his throat, and you can tell by the way his eyes are beginning to cloud that if you keep it up, if you press just a little harder, </span>
  <em><span class="s2">squeeze</span> <span class="s2">just a little more</span></em>
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Warm, strong arms snake around your middle, forming an inescapable cage of iron trying to pry you off the man beneath you, and the primal snarl that rips from your throat in response is a clear threat, but it does nothing to deter them. Hyperfixated as you are on finishing the job and ensuring that the man on the ground never lives to breathe another day, you don’t have the attention to spare, but your subconscious takes in the sharp scent of cloves filling your nostrils, the soft brush of curls against your shoulder, the domineering grip shackling your wrist maintaining a surprising air of gentleness. Your name is hurriedly whispered into your ear once, twice, three times, and by the fourth round you realize they’re not whispers at all — they’re shouts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let go of him!” Spencer barks, bruising your ribs with how harshly he yanks you backwards. “Listen to me, </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>listen to me! </em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">Let </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>go</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">of him!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get off me!” you hiss in pain, stars dancing across your vision as you feel a slight bend in one of your bones, throwing an elbow back in retaliation. It lands square on his chest, and though the resulting grunt of pain he gives is certainly satisfying, it isn’t worth the grip you lose on the man’s neck. Once you’re down by one hand, it isn’t at all difficult for Spencer to wrench the second one back, and before you know it you’re a good ten feet down the alley, kicking and screaming wildly against Spencer’s grip as the monster you’d nearly strangled to death sputtered his way back to life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Calm </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>down</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">,” Spencer snaps, voice deep and low in your ear as he adjusts his grip around your torso so that you’re more fully pressed agains his body. “You need to </span>
  <span class="s2">breathe, </span>
  <span class="s1">do you hear me? Snap out of it. She’s okay. You got here in time and she’s okay. She’s safe, and you’re safe. Calm down. Calm </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>down</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You want to tell Spencer that he’s wrong. That you can’t be safe, that </span>
  <span class="s2">no one </span>
  <span class="s1">can be, so long as the man groaning on the ground across the alley is allowed to keep breathing. That this man can’t be allowed to live another day, waiting for the next opportunity to take advantage of an unsuspecting stranger who didn’t know any better. That it would be better to put him down now than to wait around for him to fuck up all over again, to ruin someone else’s life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So you do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or, you try to. But all that manages to leave your mouth is little more than bent sobs and broken screams.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” Spencer goes on, “it’s alright. Everything’s alright.” He uses the grip he’s got on your arm to spin you around, muffling your sobs as he brings your head against his chest and keeps it there with a gentle hand rested against the back of your head. Your body’s shaking so badly against his that, with your eyes still closed, you’re certain you’re still struggling to free yourself from his grip. It isn’t until you feel your fingers — numb with cold and shock and adrenaline — curl into his jacket that you realize you’re holding onto him for dear life. “Just breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He was going to—“ You cut yourself off with a choked sob, shaking your head profusely. “He was going to—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” Spencer murmurs, “I know. You don’t have to explain, just breathe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You hate this — that he’s caught you in such a vulnerable position, that he’s bearing witness to the rapid decline of your mental state. You hate that this is what it took to finally get him to wrap his arms around you, to offer words of reassurance and certainty rather than fixing you with unimpressed looks and exasperated eye rolls. Most of all, though, you hate that he’s now seen you at your worst, and that, going forward, he’ll never quite be able to dissociate you from the monster you truly are.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You don’t know how long he holds you there, murmuring insistent reassurances into your ear as he holds you gently to his chest. For how at odds it is with every other interaction you’d had with him — those ones where he’d roll his eyes, wave you off, regard you as little more than a vapid, spoiled brat who was all too used to getting her way — it’s nearly impossible to reconcile how you’d grown </span>
  <span class="s2">used </span>
  <span class="s1">to being treated with how you were being treated now. And though it’s certainly the last thing your mind should be focussing on, though you really don’t have the mental capacity required to work through this on top of everything else, you can’t help but come to the realization that you’re actually quite fond of the change.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A voice from across the alley cuts through the careful atmosphere of misguided comfort Spencer has crafted for you, and though he won’t let you turn around — actually goes so far as to squeeze his arms more tightly around your middle so that you </span>
  <span class="s2">can’t </span>
  <span class="s1">— the very sound of the man’s voice sends you dangerously close to the edge of the precipice all over again. “Are you… the fed that bitch was talking about?” His voice is hoarse, and half his words come out in broken hacks. It’s childish in the most juvenile of ways, but you can’t help the twinge of satisfaction that sparks to life in your blood. “Arrest her! She tried to kill me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Actually,” Spencer mutters darkly in response, “from where I’m standing and from what that </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>high school senior</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">told me, </span>
  <span class="s2">she </span>
  <span class="s1">was only trying to stop you from committing assault. If anyone here is getting arrested tonight, it’s you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you— are you fucking </span>
  <span class="s2">serious?”</span>
  <span class="s1"> The blatant shock shooting his cracked voice up two octaves might have been funny, were the situation that led to it not so horribly severe. “She broke my fucking </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>leg!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thing is,” Spencer shoots back, never even missing a beat, “they do a lot worse to rapists in prison. I’d know— I’ve seen it.” The way his voice drops as the words tumble from his mouth catches your attention, but you don’t have the time to properly contemplate asking why before he’s going on. “You ask me, she went a little </span>
  <span class="s2">too </span>
  <span class="s1">easy on you. Remember that when you finally get what’s coming to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then Spencer’s calmly leading you away, maintaining a gentle yet firm grip on your waist to keep you from trying to look back. Even if you could, you don’t imagine you’d be much inclined to. You have no remorse for what you’d nearly done, and, truthfully, you’d left men in far worse states in the past. You know that; Spencer does, too. Yet, even in spite of that, even in spite of the fact that this was the second night he’d born witness to you attempting to kill a man, his touch on your body remains soft, and he curls over you like a protective blanket.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We can’t just leave him,” you find the strength to whisper once you’ve put a healthy amount of distance between you and the alley’s opening. The street lights grow brighter the closer the two of you get to the bar, and you’d never admit it out loud, but it makes you feel that much safer. “He’ll get away. You need to… you need to go back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I called the police as soon as I went to go check the bathroom,” Spencer tells you, leading you back into the safety of the bar. Suddenly surrounded by the sounds of raucous laughter and joyful whoops, it’s almost easy to forget what just occurred outside — almost. “They were on standby in case anything went wrong, but I had them hang back until I could get you out of there safely. They’re probably in the middle of cuffing him now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And the girl?” you ask, so dazed that you don’t even protest or make any sort of snappy remark as Spencer gently helps you into a secluded corner booth. “She’s... you made sure she got home safe?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I called her a taxi and gave her my phone number,” Spencer answers, fixing you with as reassuring a stare as he can manage. “She’s going to give me a call in the morning about pressing charges. She was scared and a little banged up, but he didn’t... nothing happened. You stopped it before it could.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You’re too weak to do anything with the knowledge but nod and sink down to the table, protectively covering your head with your arms as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. Dark thoughts, thoughts twisted in rage and a deeply intense need to protect, continue swirling through your mind, and if you’d thought catching your breath was impossible before, it’s effectively become something of an Olympic sport now, though the reasoning for why effectively evades your understanding. What you’d been through tonight, what you’d been ready to do to that man — if he could even be </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>called</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">a man — isn’t anything that’s never happened before. Hell, scum like that were the very reason you’d gotten caught up with Spencer in the first place.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But… something’s different now. You can tell by the way the oxygen rattles through your lungs, the way you can’t still your shaking fingers as they clatter against the tabletop. You don’t know what it is, where it’s come from, or how to stop it, but it’s there, and you can feel it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fingers softly brush up against one of your wrists, startling you so forcefully from your reverie that you can’t help the cry of shock that drops from your mouth as you yank your arm back with as much urgency as if you’d been burned. Seconds pass, then ten, then thirty, and even as your subconscious mind works double time to interpret the concerned light in Spencer’s eyes in response to his touch, you remain unable to fully come back to the present.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You need to eat something,” he tells you, casting his eyes back down to the table. It’s a testament to how much time has passed that there are now two glasses of water covered in condensation that, up until this point, you’d not even been aware were present. “It’ll help with the shock.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not going into shock,” you mutter, squeezing your hands together and resting them in front of you. Spencer catches sight, but if he has something to say about it he keeps it to himself. “And I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I’ll take you there,” Spencer responds, metaphorically digging his feet in. “But you need to eat something first. And drink water.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You roll your eyes, shakily moving to stand. “I’m not—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“</span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>Sit down</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">.” The hard glint in his eyes, sharp and metallic as a knife, makes it clear that he isn’t asking, and against your stubborn will, you immediately do as he commands. You want to think it’s simply because you’re too tired to fight back rather than too frightened or intimidated, but then, you can’t quite be sure. At least, not until Spencer leans across the table, insistently holding your gaze in something that you think might be a warning, and it’s only now that you realize he’s been holding back his frustration in favor of seeing to your needs, just as his composure begins to slip. “I told you to wait for me at the bar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you did,” you respond with a halfhearted roll of your eyes. “You should have known better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Spencer shoots back, “<em>you</em> should have listened to me. Instead you went and broke your word, all because you had something to prove to yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You can’t help but scoff in disbelief at Spencer’s implication, momentarily startled into genuine speechlessness. Those words hurt — so much so that you </span>
  <span class="s2">really </span>
  <span class="s1">weren’t inclined to admit that they did, lest Spencer think he have more power over you than you were actually willing to give him. So instead, you pushed back the hurt and leaned into the rage. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but at this point, you’d try just about anything to cut through the debilitating numbness medicating your senses at the moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t break </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>shit</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1"><em>!</em>” you hiss, repressing the urge to scream. “And if you really think I did what I did because I was thinking of myself, then you’re just as bad— no, scratch that, you’re… you’re even fucking </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>worse</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">than the rest of them!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And you expect Spencer to launch some scathingly cruel insult back at you, one that cuts you deeper than you’d ever known words could be capable of, because Spencer’s a genius, after all, and he’s kept up with you enough over the years that he knows how to make an insult hurt if he wants it to. To your admitted surprise, though, he doesn’t open his mouth and hurl knives your way; he doesn’t even look at you like he </span>
  <span class="s2">wants </span>
  <span class="s1">to hurt you, in the way that you’re positive you’re looking at him. Instead, he only blinks down at you, carefully analyzing the expression on your face and the fury in your words before giving you any kind of response. It’s more than you deserve, really.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Spencer’s soul has always struck you as kind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could have gotten yourself hurt tonight,” he sighs, shaking his head in what you think could be disappointment. “You realize that, don’t you? That what you did was reckless and </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>ridiculously</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">stupid?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You bark a harsh laugh in response to that, shaking your head as you go on squeezing your hands together. “In case you didn’t notice, </span>
  <span class="s2">I </span>
  <span class="s1">wasn’t the one in danger. Believe me, you didn’t have anything to worry about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You said he’s escalated to killing girls after assaulting them,” Spencer presses, and it’s only as you minutely glance down at the table that you realize he’s curling his hands into fists of his own. “Did you ever stop to think that if he’d managed to overpower you, that could have happened to you too?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well it </span>
  <span class="s2">didn’t, </span>
  <span class="s1">did it?” you snap, searching for the power to quell your sudden annoyance. You know it’s misplaced; Spencer’s only doing his best to take care of you, without saying as much in so many words. You </span>
  <span class="s2">should </span>
  <span class="s1">be happier for it; after all, hadn’t you spent </span>
  <span class="s2">years </span>
  <span class="s1">attempting to get Spencer to consider you? To leave lasting impressions on his mind? To sneak your way into his late night, private, personal thoughts? Sure, on the surface it had all been more for show than anything else, but… even if he’d never known the truth, you certainly always did. “I’m fine. Okay? </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>Fine</em>. </span>
  <span class="s1">I’m not going into shock—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re certainly </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <em>acting</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1"> like you are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“— I’m <em>not</em> having a panic attack—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Again, you could have fooled me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“— and I’m not </span><span class="s2"><em>hungry!</em> </span><span class="s1">Okay? I’m not!</span> <span class="s1">I </span><span class="s2"><em>just</em> </span><span class="s1">want to go home!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s lucky that Spencer had the foresight to seat the both of you as far away from the general population of the bar as possible, lest any of the unsuspecting strangers hear the two of you squabbling over something so harrowing, but even if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have cared enough to bother lowering your voice. All of these people, laughing, chatting, obliviously participating in their good times, and all the while an innocent girl had nearly been violated just a few buildings away out on the street. It wouldn’t have been their fault — really, the only person that should have been held accountable was </span>
  <span class="s2">hopefully </span>
  <span class="s1">being dragged to the police station at this very moment — but the fact that life could so casually go on while a </span>
  <span class="s2">child</span>
  <span class="s1"> had to suffer the worst night of their life in silence just didn’t sit particularly well in your throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You inhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace against the inky misery staining your senses. When you open them again, blinking through the stubborn tears trying to form in the brim of your eyes, you find Spencer carefully considering your face, and all you can do is hope he doesn’t notice the way your lip wobbles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just want to go home,” you say again, hardly managing to get the words out in anything above a whisper. “Please, Spencer, just… I don’t… I </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>can’t</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">be here right now. Please just take me home.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s hard to say what exactly takes the fight out of him. It could be the way you’ve said his name, softly, desperately, pleading in a manor which you’re certain he’s never heard from you before. But then, it could also be the tears welling in your eyes, far more conspicuous a sight than you’d have liked and one Spencer had only ever been confronted with once before. Whatever it is that’s done the trick, it prompts the softening of his gaze, along with the gentle downturn of the curve of his mouth. Just out of the corner of your eye, you think you see his fingers dancing hesitantly over the table top as they steadily migrate closer to yours, and though he doesn’t try to make contact with you this time, he manages to offer you an inexplicable amount of comfort as his fingers dance in a mirror image of the motions of yours.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Spencer concedes, frustration fading out of his expression to allow concern to take the lead. “If that’s what you need, then okay. But— just, put this on, at least.” Before you can interpret his meaning, he’s shrugging out of his jacket and pushing it across the table, and before you can protest, he’s pressing forward stubbornly. “It’s raining outside, you’re shaking, and that dress is gorgeous but it’s not going to stop you from catching hypothermia. Just wear it until we get to the car.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not leaving you a choice, judging by the glint in his eye that makes it clear he isn’t willing to hear any back talk on the subject. You consider doing so anyway — partly because you’re not sure you’re in the mood to take orders from Spencer, no matter </span>
  <span class="s2">how </span>
  <span class="s1">emotionally distressed you are, and partly because you’re afraid the weight of his jacket on your skin and the scent of his cologne in your nose would be just a bit too intimate for you to handle in this moment — but ultimately, you do as he asks, grabbing at the dark bundle of fabric and wrapping it around yourself like a blanket of protection.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s… warm. And it smells good, too. Embarrassing as it is, concentrating on further inhaling the scent of it — of </span>
  <span class="s2">him </span>
  <span class="s1">— is nearly enough to instantly cause your hands to cease their trembling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s go,” Spencer murmurs, offering his hand as he stands from the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wordlessly, you take it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Something of a Dangerous Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You're looking for a distraction from the events of the night you've had. Spencer's more than willing to give you what you're looking for.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Your silence makes Spencer uncomfortable.</p><p class="p1">It’s kind of funny, when you think about it. You can still remember all those times in the beginning of your partnership, when he’d still been soft spoken and gentle mannered, careful to respectfully avert his gaze and treat you like a lady as best he could. That’s why teasing him with flashed cleavage and inappropriate skirt lengths had been so fun at the start of it all; no man had ever acted so flustered as Spencer had, with his candy apple red cheeks and nervously cleared throat. For as much of a hassle as you’d given him back then — for as uncomfortable as you’re <em>positive </em>you’d usually made him feel — you’d have thought any amount of prolonged silence he could have gotten from you would have made his day.</p><p class="p1">Apparently, though, that wasn’t the case. At least, not according to the way he keeps clearing his throat, glancing periodically between you and the road as he attempts to deduce whether or not you’ll blow up at him if he once again tries speaking to you, tightening his grip on the steering wheel so much that it makes his white knuckles even whiter. It’s really the last thing you have space for in your mind right now, considering all the emotional turmoil and spiraling churning through your head and body like a hurricane, but you find that the tiniest part of you wants to thank him for even caring enough to be concerned. It’s been a long time since anyone has, and though you’d never expected Spencer Reid of all people to be the first, you find that you’re not exactly upset about it, either.</p><p class="p1">“Are you cold?” he murmurs, glancing carefully back and forth between you and the road. “I can turn the heat up.”</p><p class="p1">You don’t answer; it’s the third time he’s asked, after all, and you know the moment that you give him an in he’ll start pressing you with how wrong what you’d done was. So you opt to continue in your silence, adjusting your head as you go on staring out the window at the passing street lights and hoping he doesn’t see the way you wrap his jacket more tightly around your frame.</p><p class="p1">“Alright, come on,” he tries again, jerkily bringing the car to a halt as he turns back to the road and finds the light yellow. “You’ve got to give me something here, because I’m still not sure I shouldn’t take you—“</p><p class="p1">“You’re not taking me anywhere else,” you snap, perhaps a bit more harshly than was called for. “I didn’t kill him, right? You can’t turn me in. That’s the deal.”</p><p class="p1">Spencer chuckles beneath his breath, but the pitch of it lacks any significant sense of humor. “I was thinking more along the lines of a hospital. That guy clocked you pretty hard in the face. Don’t suppose you know the statistics on how many people wake up the next morning after going to bed with a concussion the night before?”</p><p class="p1">“Doesn’t matter,” you shoot back, pinning him with a steely gaze just as he maneuvers into a parking spot just outside your building. It floors you, that he’s managed to perfectly find his way without once having to consult you for directions, but then, you guessed you shouldn’t be too impressed. Such were the benefits of an eidetic memory. “Scientists have proven that falling asleep after sustaining a concussion is actually more beneficial than forcing yourself to stay awake. And, you know, given who you are as a person, there’s absolutely <em>no way </em>you weren’t already aware of that, but I’ll give you props for trying.”</p><p class="p1">He opens his mouth to object. At least, that’s what you assume. He doesn’t actually get as far as getting any actual words out before you’re unblocking your seatbelt and scrambling to get out of the car. You don’t stop the whole time — not to hear whatever reason Spencer’s about to give for why it would be safer for you to allow him to take you to a doctor, not to ponder the way his eyes, disarmingly wise even through the darkness, beg for you to just slow down for a moment and listen, and <em>certainly </em>not to give any kind of second thought to entertaining his wishes. You’re just about at your wit’s end now, and with how little room you’ve got left for things like self preservation, you definitely don’t have the capacity to humor his whims.</p><p class="p1">He’s on your heels before you even make it two steps into your apartment building. Truthfully, you’re not sure what you altogether expected. Spencer’s legs are incredibly long, for one — catching up with you isn’t exactly something he had to put a concentrated effort into. For another, your coordination was considerably lacking with how distraught a state you were in, and the idea that you’d have been able to lose Spencer, even if you’d genuinely <em>wanted </em>to, was altogether laughable. But you don’t stop trudging forward, even as he calls after you while hurriedly following you up the stairs to the second floor and even as he sounds dangerously close to grabbing at your wrist in an attempt to stop you in your tracks. You’re so, <em>so </em>close to being at your door. What you plan to do once you get there still remains a mystery, but even so, you plan to cross that bridge when you come to it.</p><p class="p1">And, evidently, so does Spencer. Because just as you’ve reached your hallway, just as you’ve begun hurriedly rooting around in your purse for your keys, Spencer’s on you. He doesn’t yank you backward like you half expect him to, though you’re not even sure why your mind had been toying with the idea of that coming to pass. That wasn’t Spencer. He only laid his hands on you when he had absolutely no choice, when it was the only option he was left with. On normal occasions, that was something about him which you appreciated. But in this instance, with the way he’s rushed past you so as to bodily block your access to your front door, you can’t help but think sustaining another punch to the face would have been considerably less annoying.</p><p class="p1">“Get out of my way, Spencer,” you snap, fingers curling down at your sides as you fix him with a blazing glare.</p><p class="p1">He only blinks at you, stare as cool as the rain in your hair sliding down the nape of your neck. “No.”</p><p class="p1">“Get out of my <em>way</em>, Spencer.”</p><p class="p1">“I won’t,” he says simply, shaking his head. There’s sympathy swirling in his eyes — or maybe it’s pity, though you’re positive he would know better than to look at you with something like that. “You’re not okay right now, and I’m not going to let the fact that you’re too stubborn to admit that get in the way of making sure you’re taken care of.”</p><p class="p1">“Look, I don’t need this, okay?” you snap, setting your jaw as you hold Spencer’s gaze, willing him with all your might to <em>listen </em>to what it is you’re saying. “Sometimes I have bad nights. Alright? I’m sorry you had to witness this one, but they <em>happen. </em>Talking about what I did isn’t going to help me feel better, and talking about the way I <em>feel </em>isn’t going to help either. What <em>will </em>is getting my mind off of it, so just… unless you’ve got some way to make that happen, the only thing I want to hear come out of your mouth next is a goodbye.”</p><p class="p1">Spencer peers down at you with slightly raised brows, parting his lips as if searching for a proper response before even fully comprehending your words. For a moment, you think you’ve thrown him for a loop, which in turn prompts a particularly uncomfortable pocket of guilt to bubble up in your chest. He’s only trying to take care of you; it’s all he’s been doing all night, as a matter of fact. And you <em>should</em> be grateful for it, for him, because if it weren’t for Spencer you’d still likely be seething in that alley as the violent downpour of rain quietly washed away what little remained of your sanity.</p><p class="p1">But then something changes. You can see it in the way his eyes behold you, scanning over every inch of your body like he might scan a book for the secrets held within its pages, and in the way the corners of his mouth turn up just enough to catch your attention. You’re hopeless to put a proper name to whatever it is, but you notice it all the same — just like you notice the the way the gears in Spencer’s mind quicken the pace at which they turn.</p><p class="p1">“You’re looking for a distraction, then.” It’s funny — it’s not a question he’s asking, but it certainly sounds like one.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” you huff, fighting off the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am. But since that’s not something you’re exactly equipped to give me—“</p><p class="p1">“Says who?”</p><p class="p1">And it’s only after the question tumbles out of his mouth, soft and quiet yet just as secure as it could possibly be, that the way your body responds to his tone through no accord of your own suddenly clicks in your mind. You can’t be sure — not a hundred percent and especially not where Spencer is concerned. Years spent trying to make heads or tails of his actions and the way he bounced so viciously back and for the teen kindness and disdain for everything that you were had made it impossible for you to come up with any significant predictions.</p><p class="p1">But in this instance, with the way he maintains eye contact as he cautiously takes one step, two, <em>three, </em>to bring his toes just shy of meeting yours, gingerly reaching up with a hand to bridge the gap between the two of you and tuck your hair behind your ear, you find you’re beginning to see the tunnel through which his mind has traveled.</p><p class="p1">“Spencer,” you try, hating how feebly your voice handles his name. “What are you doing?”</p><p class="p1">His eyes narrow just slightly, in something you think could be akin to amusement, and the dim light of the hallway, shining just over your shoulder as you find your back pressed against the wall beside your door as Spencer grows ever closer, sets his eyes alight in an indiscernible kaleidoscope of green, brown, and gold. It’s rare that you’re rendered speechless, but you suppose that if anyone in the world would have the power to make it happen, Spencer would be most likely.</p><p class="p1">“Showing you why jumping to conclusions is something of a dangerous game,” he murmurs, tips of his fingers dancing down along your throat to rest at the base where your neck meets your shoulder. They’re surprisingly warm, inexplicably soft, and though you don’t expect either of those things, you suck in a deep breath in search of the strength to maintain your composure, unwilling to let something as mundane as a ghost soft touch melt you into little more than putty in his hands.</p><p class="p1">But then Spencer grins, as if somehow aware of the nature of the thoughts warring inside your mind, and with no more warning than the mischievous determination curling his mouth into a faint smirk, he bends his neck and presses a kiss right to the rapidly fluttering heartbeat of your pulse point.</p><p class="p1">“You wanted a distraction,” he murmurs against your skin, leaving you without so much as a spare moment to process the warm flash of desire suddenly rearing its head in your stomach. “Here it is.”</p><p class="p1">“I did,” you admit, unable to help the way your hands move, of their own accord, to slide open palmed over his chest. “I do. But I’m not... I’m not really sure this is the right one.”</p><p class="p1">Spencer slowly kisses up your throat and along the line of your jaw, distracting you only slightly from the way his hands dance along your sides to settle into a new home at your hips. “Why would you think something like that?”</p><p class="p1">“Because you’ll disappoint me, eventually,” you murmur into the shell of his ear, “like all men do.” You can hardly handle it— the scent of him. It’s heady, and pinpointing whether the particularly enticing note you’re picking up is closer to cinnamon or clove is next to impossible, but that doesn’t stop it from frazzling your mind, in much the same way it doesn’t stop your hands slowly snaking their way up his chest to loop your arms around his neck. “And once that happens, I can’t promise I’ll still be willing to keep up with these meetings of ours.”</p><p class="p1">“Most men,” Spencer corrects, fingers digging gently into your hip.</p><p class="p1">You narrow your eyes in confusion. “Sorry?”</p><p class="p1">“You said I’d disappoint you eventually,” he explains, and the rub of his thumb over the crest of your hipbone is so disarmingly alluring that you have to more fully brace your back against the door just to keep from sinking to the floor. “Like all men. What you should have said was ‘most.’</p><p class="p1">“‘S’that right?” you breathe, lips just brushing up against his skin. “And you think that because...?”</p><p class="p1">“Because most men disappoint you,” Spencer tells you, one hand traveling up to cup your cheek in his palm. “And that’s understandable, believe me. But can I let you in on a little secret?”</p><p class="p1">“You know how I love them,” you shoot back, but your words stumble as they fall from your mouth.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not most men,” Spencer rasps, and then his lips are on yours for what you’re admittedly surprised is the very first time.</p><p class="p1">What catches you off guard the most, you think, is how easy it is — or maybe it’s more accurate to say that nothing about the action is <em>complicated</em>. So many nights had seen you pondering what it might be like to kiss Spencer Reid, with his intense gaze and fiery wit, and each time you’d bent to self indulgence and allowed the visions of his body flush against yours and his tongue tracing over your bottom lip, you’d never once thought any of it would come so naturally to either of you. Being a shameless flirt was easy. Taunting Spencer, teasing him, alluding to the fact that you were available to him if he only ever asked, <em>those</em> were easy. But you’d never let yourself take any of it seriously enough to think it would ever get this far, to think that he’d ever have you up against a wall with his mouth working fervently over yours, hands marking your skin with blazing, flaming touches. There were too many cords wrapping between the two of you, viciously tangled, effectively killing any chance you had at <em>being</em> together.</p><p class="p1">And yet, as Spencer’s body leaned flush against yours and more fully pressed your back against the door, and as your hands traveled up to make themselves at home in his hair, drawing a breathy gasp from his mouth as you reflexively pulled, you realized that overthinking this had been a complete and total waste of time, because melting into Spencer Reid was the simplest thing in the world.</p><p class="p1">Getting the door to your apartment open took longer than you’d have liked it to, but you refused to accept that as being entirely your fault. Spencer, it seemed, wasn’t a fan of interruptions or leaving initiated actions unfinished, and therefor had been unwilling to break the kiss long enough for you to figure it out.</p><p class="p1">“Keys,” you’d sighed into his mouth, gasping as his tongue took the newly afforded opening and used it to his advantage. “Let me… my keys.”</p><p class="p1">“Keys can wait,” he’d muttered, the hand he had on your cheek urging your face upward to afford him easier access to your mouth. “I want to take my time with you anyway.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, Spencer,” you teased, though with the way your breath hitched at the squeeze of his fingers still curled around your hip, you were sure it came out less seductive and more pleading. “Don’t go threatening me with a good time now.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s more of a promise, really,” he told you, breaking the kiss and pulling back just far enough to make meaningful eye contact. His gaze wandered down to your lips, sending a powerful warmth rippling through your abdomen, and it was all you could do to maintain your concentration in favor of simply giving in. “I—“ Spencer murmured, pausing to capture your lips with his own. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and fighting off the urge to shiver was difficult, but you managed. “—am going—“ Another kiss, deeper this time, and he didn’t break it until he’d successfully made you moan into his mouth. “—to take my <em>time</em>—“ His hand dropped from your face, then, traveling south to join the other down at your hip and <em>squeezing</em>. You might have thought the noise you’d made was embarrassing, had it not won you yet another searing kiss. “—with you. Do you understand me?”</p><p class="p1">Speaking was hard, then. Between the rapid fire kisses fueled with passion and seduction and the way Spencer made his promise with a tone that was not entirely his own, awe struck you dumb, robbing you of most coherent thought. But Spencer seemed to be expecting an actual answer from you, in this instance, and the thrill in your stomach wasn’t about to let you disappoint him for fear of losing it.</p><p class="p1">“Perfectly” you gasped, and finally gave up on the search for your keys to let him have his way.</p><p class="p1">You weren’t sure how long he’d had you there, pressed up against the door at the mercy of his mouth and hands, but you knew that you hadn’t been as concerned as you probably should have. Spencer’s kiss, breathtaking as it was, didn’t do away with the fact that you still had neighbors, and that at any moment one of them could step out from their home and witness you in the process of being ravaged. Certainly that was the very <em>last</em> thing you needed, but, had it come to pass, it would have been a problem for yourself in the morning, and given that Spencer was finally detangling himself from you so that you <em>could</em> finally let the both of you into your apartment, it quickly became a nonissue.</p><p class="p1">Especially because of the fact that you were now leading him through the dark to your bedroom as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, an amused chuckle rumbling through his chest as you crossed the threshold of your bedroom door.</p><p class="p1">“What’s funny?” you question, unable to help scanning his body over again, from the wild tangle of his hair, now ruffled from your hallway tryst, to his swollen lips, his wrinkled shirt, all the way down to his alabaster hands wrapped securely around your wrist like a welcome manacle.</p><p class="p1">“Nothing,” Spencer tells you, smiling to himself as he glances around your room. You see his eyes take in the surroundings — the books on your nightstand, the art on your walls, the various candles scattered about the available surfaces of your room. The way he was taking it all in, as if he were diligently committing the sights to memory, might have been enough to cause you embarrassment had he not immediately used his grip on you to lead you slowly closer to your bed. “This just isn’t what I expected from you, is all. All the times I pictured what your room might be like, I just… thought it might be darker, I suppose.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re disappointed,” you guess, trying — and failing — to get a handle on your rapidly beating heart. Of course— being the type of person who went after the monsters that took advantage of defenseless, vulnerable women, it only made sense Spencer would assume your personal space to be more <em>interesting</em>.</p><p class="p1">He shakes his head, that smile still toying with the corners of his lips going from innocent to something of a more sensual. “Not at all,” Spencer tells you, maintaining knowing, easy eye contact as he slowly moves to sit at the edge of your mattress and uses his grip on your wrist to gently tug you forward. “Actually…” He drops your hand and takes hold of your hips, guiding you forward and urging you to kneel so that your knees end up on either side of him, leaving you straddling his waist and sitting on his lap. It’s all you can do not to succumb to the sensation of your heart leaping into your throat. “I think it’s more accurate to say that I’m pleasantly surprised.”</p><p class="p1">And then his mouth is on yours again, with just as much need and insistence as before, and though your hands are grasping wildly at his hair, searching for any and all leverage with which to keep your soul anchored to your body, <em>his</em> hands are wandering and doing everything in their power to counteract the attempt.</p><p class="p1">It isn’t long before he’s got you moaning again, gasping breath into his mouth like nothing short of an especially pleading prayer. You’re not begging — he’d have to ask, if he wanted something like that from you, and even then giving it to him might be making things just a little too easy on him — but you <em>are</em> breathing so hard that it’s no doubt Spencer isn’t naive to the physical effect he has on you. There isn’t much that he wouldn’t be able to get away with, where you’re concerned, and with the way his hands wander your body, touching and feeling, coupled with the feel of his tongue exploring your mouth, it isn’t going to be long before he realizes that.</p><p class="p1">“I’ve got a question for you,” Spencer rasps into your ear, kissing up and down the base line of your throat as his hands encourage the gentle rocking of your hips against his own. It’s damn near infuriating, how collected he is in light of the activities the two of you are getting up to. You’d always thought he’d be the type to get flustered by a woman’s touch, all beet red blushes and fumbling hands, always imagined that he’d be shy when it came to taking part in physical pleasure.</p><p class="p1">But, as you were learning extremely quickly, that wasn’t exactly the case. He knew where to put his hands, knew where to nip to win a multitude of delighted noises from your throat, knew just how much to push, to press, to <em>squeeze</em>. And it was only now that you were beginning to consider the possibility that you might be in just a little too far over your head.</p><p class="p1">“Go ahead and ask,” you encourage him, not quite managing to disguise the elated hitch in your voice as his hand ghosts up and down your side before snaking between your bodies and slowly trailing lower until it finds a home just shy of between your legs. “I probably—” You cut yourself off with a gasp at the feel of his fingers, unsure whether it’s his actual touch or the anticipation of it that’s working at your unraveling. It’s a testament to how fluidly he’s managing to pull this off that you’d never even noticed his hand sneaking past the hem of your skirt. “I probably have an answer.”</p><p class="p1">“How do you like it?” Spencer whispers, the heat of his breath in your ear prompting your muscles to tense as he uses the hand <em>not</em> currently preoccupied with teasing you into sensitivity to skate his thumb across your bottom lip. “I can be sweet,” he tells you, pausing to nip at your throat. “I can be <em>mean</em>.” He presses the thumb between your legs more fully against you, then, withdrawing it as soon as he’d drawn the sweet, not so quiet noise of elation he’d been looking for. “I can be whatever you want me to be, or need me to be, but you have to tell me what you like, and then I’ll decide whether or not <em>I</em> feel like listening.”</p><p class="p1">“And if I said dealer’s choice?” you question, forcing your lungs to inhale breaths slightly deeper than necessary. Your hands are already shaking, fingers grabbing at what they can of his jacket and holding on for dear life. The two of you haven’t even gotten down to the especially fun part of one another’s company, yet, and you’re already trying to parse out whether or not you’re going to last. “If I told you I’d prefer you did whatever happened to come to mind?”</p><p class="p1">“Well <em>that,</em> believe it or not,” Spencer answers, carefully tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “actually makes things very, very simple.”</p><p class="p1">And then you’re on your back, a slight yelp of shock escaping you in response to the swift, sudden shift in position, and you’ve hardly got any time to react or process before Spencer’s mouth is <em>everywhere</em>.</p><p class="p1">He starts at your throat, having relocated both his hands to pin your wrists above your head, and makes quick work of migrating south to your collarbone before grazing his lips, his teeth, his tongue over the ridge. He’s bound to leave some lasting marks, if he keeps going the way he is, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. Any reminder of this night, any proof that all of this was actually happening, that Spencer Reid was in your bed after so many years of heavy flirting and suggestive comments when you’d only come close to kissing him one other time, was welcome. You’d need it come morning time, when you were sure to wake up alone and all of this felt like little more than a hazy dream.</p><p class="p1">“This needs to come off,” Spencer murmurs, using his mouth to tug at the neck of your dress. With how low the satin dips down your chest, you can feel the stubble on his face brushing up against your skin, and it’s pathetic, but the feeling sends your legs tightening further around his waist.</p><p class="p1">“You don’t like my dress?” you ask him, making more of an effort than you’d care to admit not to sound like a breathless idiot. “I only bought it ‘cause it made me think of you, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“I like the dress,” Spencer breathes against your skin, peering up at you through the fringe of his lashes. “I like you <em>in</em> the dress.” He shifts up again, leaning so that his lips come just a centimeter from brushing your ear, and though you’d assumed he’d simply leave it at that, your soul nearly jumps out of your body when you feel him gently take hold of your earlobe with his teeth. Just for a second, just long enough for you to process what it is he’s doing, but by the time you actually do, he’s back to whispering in your ear. “But something tells me I’d like the dress a lot more if it were on the floor, because then you and I... well. Take it off and you’ll find out.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ve got a better idea,” you simper, peering down at him through your lashes. “Why don’t you make me?”</p><p class="p1">Spencer freezes all movement, then, as if he’d suddenly been turned to stone, and his stillness might have given you pause were it not for the dangerous glint of mischief shining in his eye. “Come again?” he prompts, voice just above a whisper. His tone is calm, deceptively so, and you can feel the vibrations of his words down where his chest rumbles against your abdomen.</p><p class="p1">“I said ‘make me’,” you challenge him again, the time bomb of anticipation already beginning to build way down in your lower stomach. “Or do you not think you’d be able to?”</p><p class="p1">His eyes darken further, blown out pupils reducing his irises to little more than green-gold rings. “So <em>that’s</em> how you like it,” he murmurs, a wicked curve turning up the corners of his mouth. By the time you manage to process his meaning, he’s already freed your wrists from the shackle of his grip and trailing his hands along your sides. The sensation of his touch is so ticklishly feather light that it nearly distracts you from the way he’s inching further down your body. “Let’s try this again. Take off the dress.”</p><p class="p1">Your heart pounds against your ribcage, blood pumping so hard you’re genuinely shocked that none of your veins have burst, and though you know the wise thing to do would be to quit while you’re ahead, you just can’t bring yourself to resist the temptation of meeting Spencer’s gaze head on and respond with a firm, “Make me.”</p><p class="p1">Then his hands are on your thighs, fingers causing goosebumps as he trails his fiery touch over your skin and hooks them behind your knees to urge them over his shoulders. “<em>Take</em> <em>off</em>—“ Spencer commands, pausing to nip at your inner thigh as his eyelashes leave a flutter of kisses against the sensitive skin “—<em>the dress.</em>”</p><p class="p1">Your pent up excitement pulses with an incessant radiance in that place between your legs, all but burning your nerves down to the fringes as your body anticipates the coming consequences. Maybe it’s the dangerous look flashing in his eyes that’s making you respond stubbornly to his demands. Maybe it’s simply the fact that you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and no matter how eager you are to get down to business you can’t help but toy with Spencer just the tiniest bit, which is why you push yourself up onto your elbows to more easily meet his gaze before shooting back at him with a simple, “<em>Make—“</em></p><p class="p1">You don’t even have the chance to finish the sentence before Spencer’s mouth, his breath, his <em>tongue</em>, are all pressing against your core, sucking and swirling in that way that makes your toes curl and sends your hand flying to stifle the cry fighting its way from your lips. Reflexively, your hips buck as your back arches, and you’re unsure of whether or not your body is shying away from the pleasure or attempting to lean into it, but either way, there isn’t any escape. Not with the way Spencer’s arms are wrapped securely around your thighs, granting him easy access and preventing <em>you</em> from getting out of the direct consequences of mouthing off.</p><p class="p1">“Spencer,” you gasp, looking for any way to cope with the sheer amount of pleasure already building in your lower stomach. One of your hands snakes down, curling through the thick locks of his hair and hanging on for dear life as the other runs through your own, attempting to control your response. He’s hardly touched you and you’ve already begun to shake. It might have embarrassed you, had you not caught sight of his ridiculously delighted grin.</p><p class="p1">“Still feel like being a brat?” he murmurs against you, holding eye contact as he continues working his tongue against your sensitivity. The vibrations of his words are strong enough that you can feel them up in your chest, and any answer you might have strung together is effectively shot to hell as a result. You’re falling to pieces, giving into him, and judging by the smirk curving his mouth he’s all too aware of that fact. “All you had to do was listen, you know. But you never <em>have</em> been very good at that, have you?”</p><p class="p1">You can hardly contain yourself, can hardly keep the whimpers and sighs that spring to your lips in response to his touch at bay, and you only begin to unravel further as he carries on. You can already feel your excitement and euphoria beginning to crest, can feel the tidal wave of bliss preparing to wash over your body in a flood, and your back arches further in preparation. All you need is just one more touch, one more kiss, one more hum of breath against your core and <em>then</em>—</p><p class="p1">Spencer pulls away, leaving your rising climax stagnant in your abdomen, and though you focus with all your might on crossing the threshold into sensory overload, the sudden lack of touch and pressure are far too great to overcome. “You look disappointed,” he notes, shooting a mock pout up at you from where he still hovers between your legs. “I hope that’s not because of me.”</p><p class="p1">“Bastard,” you hiss, heaving deep breaths in chase of your composure. You got the feeling you knew where this was going, and provided you were right, you didn’t want to offer him such easy access to smug satisfaction. God only knew how far he’d run with it.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry,” Spencer goes on, tone little more than feigned innocence, “did you want me to keep going?” He shrugs your thighs from his shoulders before slowly moving his way back up your body, stopping only when his chest is pressed to yours and your faces are mere centimeters apart. “If that’s what you were hoping for, then… why don’t you make me?”</p><p class="p1">“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” you shoot back, but the words don’t come out as mean as you want them to, and judging by the way Spencer tilts his head in amusement, he can tell.</p><p class="p1">“I’m not?” he chuckles, catching your mouth in a surprisingly sweet natured kiss. It’s so at odds with the devilish mischief gleaming in his eyes that it nearly distracts you from the feel of his hand creeping south to once again rest between your legs. <em>Nearly</em>. “Well, then, let’s hope I’m better at getting you off than I am at making you laugh.” He works his fingers gently against you, slowly and with just enough pressure to remind you of the high you’d nearly reached just a minute before, and between that, his analytical gaze, and the way the heat of his breath fans over your face, all your previous irritation at being denied fades into the back of your mind. “How am I doing so far?”</p><p class="p1">You swallow, letting your eyes slip closed as you focus on the way his fingers, so careful yet so overwhelmingly <em>present</em>, continue coaxing you along. “Good,” you breathe, reaching up to hook your arms around his neck. “You’re doing so good.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Just</em> good?” Spencer prompts, and you don’t need to open your eyes to know which of his expressions accompanies the question. It’s a threat. You can tell because, despite the way he leans down to dot another kiss to the skin of your throat, tongue darting out to trace along the lines of your veins, it doesn’t quite manage to distract you from the way his fingers slow their pace.</p><p class="p1">“Better than,” you try again, swallowing thickly as you attempt to grab at his shoulder for leverage. It only hits you then that the both of you are still fully clothed, but the thought is out of your mind just as soon as it appears. You can’t be bothered to care, not with the way his fingers speed up their dance, and not with the way one is on the verge of creeping into you. Considering the game Spencer’s playing, if you say the right thing… “You’re— Jesus, you’re—“</p><p class="p1">“Spencer,” he corrects, but even so, that doesn’t stop him from making good on his silent promise as his fingers begin pumping into you at a maddeningly slow pace. “The only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth is <em>mine</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“You are so— <em>bossy</em>.” It’s meant to be a sarcastic retort, but with the way your breath hitches in response to Spencer’s inserting a second finger into you, you don’t think it comes out that way, and you’re also pretty sure you don’t care.</p><p class="p1">He’s picking up speed, both in his actions and his urgency, and though you’d meant to keep up with the banter, add to your mystique and allure by matching him word for word in wit, the rhythm his fingers have set is too distracting. Spencer’s touch is all you can focus on, and between the pulse of his hand between your legs, the way his tongue snakes over what of your chest is already bared, and the way his bodyweight presses you into the mattress, it isn’t long before you’re tiptoeing the precipice’s edge all over again.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t stop,” you gasp, clutching harder at his shoulders, the lapels of his jacket, his tie. Anything, <em>anything </em>to help you hold on as your senses crept closer to completion. Anything to ensure you weren’t robbed of euphoria yet again by another one of his cheap tricks. “Keep going, I’m almost there, just don’t— oh my— <em>Spencer</em>.”</p><p class="p1">He grins into your skin, using his free hand to reach up and cup your breast before letting his thumb skate back and forth across your nipple, and, because the dress you were wearing tonight demanded that you forgo dawning a bra, you were left to feel perfectly each and every shift his fingers made. “Ask me again,” he purrs, gazing at the way your lip trembles and your lashes flutter in the same way he might behold fine art. “Ask me again, and ask me <em>nicely</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“Please don’t stop,” you plead, swallowing thickly. Your pulse is flying at a mile a minute, so fast that your heart feels in danger of bursting, and you can feel the heat of liquid gold pooling in your stomach. Provided Spencer’s feeling merciful, it won’t be long now, but you <em>are, </em>in fact, left to his mercy. “Please, <em>please</em> don’t stop, I’ll do— fuck, I’ll do whatever you want, just— <em>please</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“That sounds so pretty,” he whispers, applying more pressure to where his thumbs and fingers work over your body. It’s sin, the way he’s so easily driving you into oblivion, but it’s also the purest thing you’ve ever known. “Do you know what would sound even prettier?”</p><p class="p1">Spencer doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow his pace or attempt to toy with what’s bound to come, and you find the answer to his question in the way you arch your back and part your lips to make way for the visceral, breathy trills that escape from your throat in response to finally being met with climactic bliss, shaking and shuddering and unraveling in the midst of his arms. Your fingers curl tightly where they’re laced through his hair, though if the way you pull causes any discomfort, Spencer makes no indication. He only continues letting his fingers work over you at their steady, insistent pace, coaxing cries and breaths and stuttering gasps out of your mouth as he guides you through the crest of your orgasm.</p><p class="p1">“So pretty,” Spencer murmurs as he dots more kisses to your collarbones. “So, so, <em>so </em>fucking pretty.” Through the haze of euphoria clouding your mind, you don’t quite manage to take note of the fact that he’s speaking more to himself — marveling, really — than he is to you, but you don’t think you altogether mind. “I want to make you feel good, pretty girl. Don’t you want that too?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes,” you tell him, using your grasp on his hair to tug his head down so your mouths can meet in the space between. It’s the first time during this whole ordeal that <em>you’ve</em> kissed <em>him, </em>and though the action wins you a satisfying groan falling from Spencer’s mouth into yours, it also only serves to make Spencer’s movements that much more fervent as his tongue dances with yours, the pad of his thumb rubbing sweet, unhurried circles against your clit.</p><p class="p1">“Yes what?” he prompts, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. “Speak up.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, <em>please</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“And if I tell you,” Spencer asks, peering down at you through the fringe of his lashes, “that I want your dress off your body and on the floor so I can <em>make </em>you feel good, are you going to listen to me, or am I going to have to teach you another lesson?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” you answer, detangling a hand from his hair to cup his cheek with your palm and run your thumb across the prominent arc of his cheekbone. “I’ll be good, I’m… I’m ready to listen.”</p><p class="p1">“Good.” He frees you from the shackles of his touch, leaning back on his knees to give you room and space. It’s pathetic that you already miss the weight of him against your body and you <em>know </em>it is, but once he’s off you all your mind can do is fantasize about when he’ll once again be <em>on </em>you. “Then go ahead and take off your dress.”</p><p class="p1">So you do. You sit up, still not fully recovered from the high of climax, and reach a trembling hand behind your back to grasp at your zipper. Spencer’s eyes, keen and observant, track the movement the entire way, and you can’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t rather be doing this himself but know better than to question what he’s told you to do. For now, he’s content to watch, and though you aren’t making special effort to give him much of a show, the way his eyes drink in the sight of the satin straps of your dress slipping down your shoulders make you feel like you’re putting on the performance of a lifetime.</p><p class="p1">It’s… not quite what you expect, being beheld in your entirety by Spencer’s all encompassing gaze. He doesn’t look at you like he’s doing it to see, or to briefly consider you. He does it like he’s doing it to remember, drinking the sight in and committing it to memory as best and fully as he can. The contrast of your skin against your bedsheets, the angle at which you’re splayed to make yourself available to his touch and whims, the way your chest rises and falls more and more with each breath you inhale. Spencer peruses your body like he’s snapshotting each and every detail he can find, and it’s silly, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s keeping the memories because it’s how his eidetic memory works, or because he actually wants to perfectly remember the way your body gleams in the moonlit darkness.</p><p class="p1">“And what about you?” you question as you fight off the urge to cross your arms over your chest to shield your bare skin from view. He’s already had his fingers inside you, after all, and made your legs shake with such little effort that it was hard to say whether you should be impressed or embarrassed. He’s already had you moaning his name like a sinner praying for repentance, only what you’d been searching for during that time wasn’t nearly so wholesome. All of that considered, getting shy now wouldn’t make the slightest bit of sense. “Suddenly you’re looking very over dressed. I kind of feel like I’m at a disadvantage.”</p><p class="p1">Which is all it takes to prompt Spencer to climb off the bed and stand before he’s shrugging off his jacket, loosening his tie, and, once that’s dealt with, slowly but surely undoing the buttons of his shirt. It isn’t more than thirty seconds later that he’s tugging his undershirt over his head and tossing it to the floor, leaving him stripped half naked as his hands set to work at the buckle of his belt.</p><p class="p1">“See how fast things go when people do what they’re asked?” he teases, eyes never leaving your body as his belt hits the floor with a muted thud.</p><p class="p1">“I wasn’t <em>asked </em>to do anything,” you shoot back, raising your chin. “I was <em>told.”</em></p><p class="p1">“You’re right,” he agrees, tugging at the zipper of his pants. “You were. And you’re going to be <em>told</em> to do even more tonight, so hopefully you’ve figured out how to listen in the last few minutes, because otherwise... this is going to take a while.”</p><p class="p1">You don’t take the bait. For one, you know better. Though the taunting and edging he’d put you through only moments ago had been more than worth the pay off, you weren’t sure you wanted a repeat so soon after. And, for another, you’re too busy concentrating on the way Spencer’s hands push his pants down his legs, pulling them off easily and leaving him standing before you in nothing but his boxers. They’re purple — <em>figures</em> — and cling closely to his frame, and you’re not sure if it’s the rush of post bliss or if he’s really just got you that turned on, but the mere sight of them sends another pulse of excitement to your core. It’s embarrassing, but your breath hitches all the same.</p><p class="p1">“See something you like?” Spencer asks, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement at your blatant staring.</p><p class="p1">You arch a brow and tilt your head, pointedly glancing down at the prominent bulge between his legs before once again meeting his gaze. “Do you?”</p><p class="p1">“I do.” He takes another step closer to you, preparing to join you on the bed once more, but not before letting the tips of his fingers dance their way to the waistband of his boxers. “Want me to show you how much?”</p><p class="p1">“I do,” you echo him, unable to help the sly grin curving your mouth as you slowly push yourself up and onto your knees. It’s impossible to take your eyes off the sight of his body, surprisingly more muscular under those suit jackets of his than you’d ever thought to imagine, and you make no attempt to disguise the fact that you’re checking him out as you shuffle close enough to take hold of his hands and move them away from his boxers before grabbing his hips and pulling him a step closer. “But I want to show you first.”</p><p class="p1">You punctuate the sentence with a wet kiss to his chest, chuckling softly as you feel him instantly tense at the feel of your teeth grazing his skin. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, you pull them down Spencer’s thighs as you move your lips down his chest, tracing a path with your tongue and trying not to fall victim to the expanding giddiness in your chest. When you finally hear the muffled sound of cloth hitting the floor as his boxers pool around his ankles, you pause, grinning up at him from where you kneel. Spencer opens his mouth, no doubt to make some suggestive comment designed to cause your knees to go weak, but you palm his dick and cut him off before he gets the chance, leaving his words to die in his throat.</p><p class="p1">“There’s a good boy,” you whisper, pausing to trail another string of open mouthed kisses between the ridges of his hips as your hand more fully takes hold of him, working back and forth over his length. The deep moan he gives in response is low, and you feel his fingers tighten where they’ve snaked into your hair. “You like that? You like the way that makes you feel?”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Fuck</em>,” Spencer exhales, muscles tensing and twitching as he takes careful notice of the way your mouth works over his stomach. It’s almost funny, the contrast between the dark glint in his eye and the breathless delight escaping his throat, and the knowledge that you’re the reason for his break in composure sends satisfaction running rampant through your mind.</p><p class="p1">“Tell me what you want to do to me,” you murmur into his skin, walking your mouth further down his abdomen. When your face finally comes level with where your hands continue working his dick, you glance up to smirk at him, taking a page out of his book and holding eye contact as you use your tongue to lick a steady strip down his shaft. The resulting hiss he lets out goes straight to your clit. “The more you talk, the longer I suck.” And, to prove your point, you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over it and stifling a chuckle at the way his hands more fully pull at your hair in response.</p><p class="p1">Of course. He could dish it out, but when it came to taking it, he was just as helplessly effected as you.</p><p class="p1">“I’m going,” Spencer begins, lips parting as he raises his face to the ceiling, “to make you <em>scream.” </em>He has to pause to make way for the moans fighting their way out of his body, deep and rumbling, but that does nothing to stop the obscenities he mutters like a second language as he peers down at you through half lidded eyes. “I’m going to lean you back and — <em>fuck </em>— lean you back and fuck you so hard you start seeing stars. Do you hear me? And I won’t… stop… until your legs are shaking and you’re cumming so hard that you can’t even remember your own last name.”</p><p class="p1">You don’t respond; at least, not verbally. You do, however, take your sweet time bobbing your mouth up and down Spencer’s dick, humming in amusement as you kept up the steady pace your hands were tugging at. All those months you’d let your mind wander with darker, impure thoughts of Spencer, all those times you’d flirted suggestively with him only to be met with flippant rejection, you’d never gone so far as to think he would be so adept at dirty talk. But knowing that you’re the reason he’s now toeing the line of incomprehensible babbling as he tilts his head up, in search of composure or relief or whatever it is his eyelashes are fluttering over, makes you feel powerful, desired, in control.</p><p class="p1">But then, so does the way Spencer hisses through his teeth as his dick hits the very back of your throat.</p><p class="p1">“You’re not… going to be able to walk tomorrow,” he promises darkly, using his grip on your hair to assist in pushing your head up and down. “Not after I’m done with you, and not after— oh, fuck, just… oh, <em>just like that</em>, pretty girl. You’re so… fuck, come here. Come up here.”</p><p class="p1">You give one final swirl of your tongue over the head of his cock before you release him from your mouth, and you’ve just managed to suck in a breath of air when Spencer yanks you up by your hair to bring your face level with his, never pausing as he catches your mouth and starts working his own against it, wrapping his arms around your torso as he kneels on your mattress, careful to mind the fact that you’ve still got him firmly in your grasp as he shuffles you backward. Once he’s got you where he wants you, he lets one of his hands snake between your bodies, and though his fingers are warm where they take hold of one of your breasts, thumb rubbing insistent circles over your nipple, you find that you can’t help but to shiver in response.</p><p class="p1">And then he’s pushing you down, pressing his weight against yours until you’re laying flat on your back, and you’re forced to release him from your grip as he moves back and shifts himself to kneel between your spread legs, eyes glinting wickedly in the darkness as his chest goes on heaving. You think about launching some kind of witty remark at him — the power trip of making him mutter senselessly because of how you’d made him feel with just your mouth had shot your ego sky high — but Spencer doesn’t give you the chance before he’s plunging his length into you.</p><p class="p1">He doesn’t give you time to adjust before his hips are snapping against yours at a mind numbing pace, not even giving you enough time to cry out in pain or pleasure before he’s pulling back out and thrusting into you all over again. A whimper escapes your throat at the feel of being so full, and you can’t stop your eyes rolling back in delight as Spencer keeps up his motion. His movements are furious, unrelenting, and the heat of his breath on your neck as he hovers over you is enough for you to get lost in the euphoria of everything he’s giving you.</p><p class="p1">“That’s right, take it,” Spencer moans, opting to thrust harder than faster. Your headboard clatters against the wall each time his hips pound against yours, and if that weren’t enough to get you crying out, the way he bends his neck to press sloppy kisses to your bare chest before running his tongue over one of your nipples is. “Fuck, what a— <em>good</em> <em>fucking girl. </em>You like that, don’t you? You like the way you feel when I fuck you?”</p><p class="p1">It’s not a question he needs you to answer with words — it’s not a question he technically needs you to answer <em>at all,</em> considering he’s got a perfect view of the way your body curves and bends to the shape of his as it searches for any possible way to bring the two of you closer. The heave of your chest and the way that your fingers curl into his shoulders as he keeps pumping into you should technically function as answer enough, but because Spencer isn’t the type of person to leave well enough alone — at least from what you’ve taken notice of in the last couple of years, let alone the last couple of <em>minutes </em>— he pauses working his mouth over your chest and uses a hand to adjust your head so that you have no choice but to meet his gaze head on.</p><p class="p1">“I asked you a question,” he murmurs, tone not too far off from functioning as a warning.</p><p class="p1">You swallow as you meet his gaze, blinking rapidly as you attempt to focus on… well, anything you can, really. Between the sweet ache of Spencer relentlessly pounding against your walls, the warmth of his tongue skating over your skin, and his hand being dangerously close to functioning as your temporary necklace, it’s hard to pick any one thing to focus on.</p><p class="p1">“You make me feel so fucking good,” you tell him, crossing your ankles together at his back as you wrap your legs more tightly around his waist. The change in angles only allows Spencer to fuck that much deeper into you, and it’s impossible not to blush at the way your coming words morph into an uncontrollable half scream. “I want you to fuck me harder. Just keep— <em>ah, keep </em>fucking me, just like that, just— Spencer, <em>Spencer—!”</em></p><p class="p1">The orgasm rolls over your senses in waves, having built itself up silently so that there had been no possible way to take note of it or prepare before you were tipping over the edge of the precipice. Spencer simply watches, never letting up his movements as he paces you through it, and the moan you win from his lips in response to the feeling of your walls spasming around his cock is so tantalizing that it nearly pushes you over the edge all over again.</p><p class="p1">“I like the way you say my name,” he tells you, wicked light shining in his eyes. You’re still so breathless from your come down that you barely take note of the fact that he’s wrapping his arms around you and shifting your bodies so that you’re once again straddling his lap. He’s careful to never slip his cock out of you once, and the fact that you’re now effectively riding him doesn’t quite register in your mind until you’re gazing down at him rather than up. “I want to hear you say it again.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Spencer</em>,” you moan, leaning back just slightly as you allow your eyes to slip closed. You’re still so sensitive from your second orgasm that you’re not quite sure you aren’t about to work yourself into a third, but you don’t let the threat of rapturous bliss slow the way you buck against him. “Spencer.”</p><p class="p1">“Again,” he commands, guiding your hips with his hands. “Say it again.”</p><p class="p1">“Spencer.”</p><p class="p1">“Louder.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Spencer</em>.”</p><p class="p1">He mutters more swears under his breath as his hips still their movements to make way for the roll of yours, letting you move up and down at any and every pace you please. His eyes, pupils blown so far out that his irises are nearly nonexistent, gaze up at you in what you can only describe as sensuous curiosity, and if it wasn’t clear before that watching you writhe on top of him as you gasp his name like a prayer was working for him, it certainly becomes so as he tentatively uses his hands to guide yours to his neck, clasping your fingers around his throat before leaving them to their own devices.</p><p class="p1">Despite how quickly the power dynamic has managed to shift, you do your best to roll along with it, grinding on his dick at a faster pace as you heed his silent request and begin lightly squeezing your fingers around his neck. Not hard enough to cause pain, and certainly not hard enough to significantly rob him of breath, but enough that you can feel the fluttering of his pulse in the veins beneath your touch.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, you’re a <em>naughty </em>boy, aren’t you?” you purr, pausing to work a constellation of unhurried open mouthed kisses over the skin of his cheeks as you continue bouncing up and down his length. “You like the way I choke you while we fuck, huh? You like watching me take this dick?” Spencer leans his head back as another low groan escapes his lips, though if he thinks you’re planning to make it so easy on him after all the teasing he’d put you through in the last twenty or so minutes, you’re determined to ensure that Spencer knows he has another thing coming, and you begin doing so by slowing the pace at which you move against him and squeezing just a touch harder as you blink down at him. Echoing his words from earlier and trying not to look too pleased with yourself, you mutter, “I asked you a <em>question, </em>Spencer.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he rasps out, gazing up at you as if the answer to any question he could ever think to ask is contained within your expression. Funny, that; his gaze had always left you feeling so completely and utterly seen over the years. Now, in addition to that, it serves to make you feel powerful, too. “So— <em>so</em> fucking—“ He hisses out a sharp exhale, hands snaking up to rest against your hips as your body continues bouncing and your hands continue squeezing. “Oh, I like it so fucking much, you have <em>no </em>idea. Just keep going, baby, just keep… I’m almost—“</p><p class="p1">You cease all movement, then, unable to help the shit eating grin curling your lip as you sit in place and lighten the hold you have on Spencer’s throat. The dumbfounded confusion immediately slipping its way onto his face is so darkly satisfying that you actively have to stifle the urge to laugh, and even then, you just barely manage. “You look disappointed,” you tease, toes curling at the feeling of fullness having Spencer stationary inside you leaves you with. “I hope that’s not because of me.”</p><p class="p1">Spencer’s eyes slip closed in search of composure; if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the way he was leaning his face up to the ceiling was almost akin to prayer. “Don’t do this to me,” he groans, biting his lip as you give your hips just the slightest bit of motion. “Oh, pretty girl, <em>please </em>don’t do this to me.”</p><p class="p1">“Mmm,” you chuckle, freeing one of your hands from his neck to tilt his chin down in effort to bring his gaze back to meet yours. “Karma’s a real bitch, isn’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll keep going in just a second.” You squeeze the hand still wrapped around his neck as you let the fingers propping his chin up ghost up his face, fitting your fingers to the curve of his cheek before gently pushing your thumb into his mouth. A shiver runs along your spine at the way his tongue swirls so easily around it, and the sight of him so eagerly and willingly playing along with your whims causes your clit to pulse. “I <em>do </em>want to hear you beg, though. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you tell me how bad you want me to fuck you?”</p><p class="p1">Spencer blinks once as he continues sucking on your thumb, waiting for you to remove it before giving an answer. When it becomes clear to him that you have no intention of doing so, he starts sucking up and down its length, mirroring the way you’d been handling his cock while you’d had it in your mouth. “So fucking bad,” he mouths around your thumb, careful not to catch it with his teeth. “I want you <em>so bad</em>, pretty girl, so bad that I don’t know what to do with myself.”</p><p class="p1">“And how <em>long </em>have you wanted me?” you go on, pressing your index finger into the prominent ridge of his adam’s apple. Your hips are bucking beneath you subconsciously, your body having grown sore at holding him still inside you for such a lengthy amount of time, but you grit your teeth and keep yourself steady, determined to make him work for exactly what it is he wants. Pulling your thumb from his mouth, you run it along his bottom lip, the saliva coating it allowing the motion an added quality of fluidity. “You be honest with me or I swear to god I’ll get up and walk out of here right now.”</p><p class="p1">“Since the first time I saw you standing in that alley,” he gasps through the constriction of your hand. “You looked so fucking gorgeous that night, do you know that? I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind since.”</p><p class="p1">In response, you let your hips roll, once, then twice, and then a third time, all the while squeezing your walls around him to make the effect that much stronger. It works; Spencer’s breath picks up speed, and you can feel him struggling beneath you, searching for any and all friction he can get ahold of.</p><p class="p1">“Liar,” you murmur as you lean down to take the lobe of his ear into your mouth. The action wins you another shiver, and in return you afford Spencer yet another roll of your hips.</p><p class="p1">“No, pretty girl, I fucking <em>swear.” </em>It’s a testament to the hold you have over him that his voice sounds in danger of cracking, though you don’t let that stop you from applying more pressure to your grip. “I’ve wanted you this whole time, do you hear me? I just— I never knew how to—“</p><p class="p1">You cut Spencer off with a kiss, releasing your grip on his throat and inserting your tongue into his mouth before wrapping your arms around his neck and starting up bouncing on his dick again, pace unhurried but insistent. The giddiness rising in your stomach at his recounting wanting you combined with the pressure of holding him inside you had been too much to continue with, and with the way that the telltale slow burn of angelic heat was beginning to pool in the bottom of your stomach for a third time, you knew it was time to get on with the show.</p><p class="p1">“Say you want me,” you command him, burying your face into Spencer’s neck as he sits up, pressing his chest flush against yours. “Say it.”</p><p class="p1">“I want you,” Spencer complies, slipping a hand down between your legs before setting to work at letting his fingers fly rapid-fire against your clit. “I want you so fucking bad, pretty girl, and I’ve <em>always </em>wanted you.”</p><p class="p1">“Say it again.”</p><p class="p1">“I—“ He pauses to suck your tongue into his mouth, fingers of his left hand tweaking your nipple as he continues rubbing circles against your clit with the thumb of his right. “—want—“ Another kiss, slower and somehow even more sensuous than the last. “—<em>you</em>.” He pinches your nipple harder, then, and you’re left gasping into his mouth as the final stage of your bliss begins to mount.</p><p class="p1">“I want you, too,” you tell him, swallowing thickly in a strained attempt to catch your breath, and it only takes the words tumbling out of your mouth without a second thought before you realize just how true they are. Not only in regards to the sex — though you <em>do </em>want him in that way, and your lust only grows more powerful the longer he keeps your senses toeing the line of bliss — but also to the way you feel about him. Because you <em>do </em>feel some special way about him, despite how many times you’d sworn to yourself he could never be more than a distraction, and despite the way kissing him seems to fill some unidentifiable pit in your stomach.</p><p class="p1">You can’t <em>help</em> yourself.</p><p class="p1">And though you know that what you’ve done with Spencer tonight doesn’t mean to him what it means to you, not by a <em>long shot, </em>you can’t seem to keep your giddiness from escaping you. “I want you, I want you, I need you, I l<em>ove you</em>—“</p><p class="p1">Spencer jerks beneath you, breath catching in his throat as his climax seizes hold of his senses, and you don’t know if it’s the way he’s whispering your name over and over again like it’s the most delicate thing he’s ever spoken or the way he brings his hands up to cup your face and gaze directly into your eyes as he comes undone, but something pushes you along far enough that you’re joining him in ecstasy for your third time in the night.</p><p class="p1">You don’t know how long it goes on — only that it feels like an eternity. Each and every muscle in your body contracts at the same time, causing you to shake so hard in Spencer’s arms that your teeth chatter and you start to hear the ocean in your ears. The fact that you’ve managed to climax together pushes you even further, and your nails are raking down Spencer’s back before you can stop them, leaving telltale red lines in their wake.</p><p class="p1">“You’re beautiful,” Spencer murmurs, catching your mouth in a sweet kiss once you both manage to come back to yourselves. The compliment is soft, tender — nothing like it had been when he’d been making you call out his name over and over. And it continues as he dots kisses against your cheeks between words. “You’re <em>so</em> beautiful.”</p><p class="p1">“And you’re a sweet talker,” you shoot back with a roll of your eyes, but when Spencer cranes his neck to catch your mouth with his own, you let him. It helps distract your mind from the horrifying slip you’d made that Spencer still has yet to address. You can’t be sure whether you’re <em>wondering</em> if he hadn’t heard you, or <em>hoping</em>.</p><p class="p1">“I am,” he agrees, tugging gently at a lock of your hair. “Only for you, though.”</p><p class="p1">The two of you stay like that a few moments longer — your legs wrapped around Spencer’s waist as your arms encircle his neck, Spencer’s fingers scrawling patterns across the bare expanse of your back. That bubble of dread in the pit of your stomach continues expanding, but the affection currently responsible for pumping your blood through your veins momentarily diverts your attention. Sitting here in Spencer’s arms feels… right. Sitting in Spencer’s arms feels like home. It shouldn’t, but it does, and it’s that, you’re pretty sure, that terrifies you.</p><p class="p1">But you aren’t willing to give that any special attention just yet. Quite frankly, you are <em>determined </em>to at least allow yourself the chance to enjoy the feeling of his arms carefully cradling you as he finally shifts you off his lap and pulls you up against his side to hold you. Considering this had all taken two full years worth of build up, you figure you <em>at least </em>deserve that much.</p><p class="p1">“Is this okay?” Spencer questions, tucking the crown of your head beneath his chin. With the way your ear presses just over the center of his chest, it’s easy to map out the rhythm of his heartbeat, and you find yourself drumming along to the beat with your fingers over his stomach. You want to tell him it’s more than okay — how could it be anything but, when you’ve pictured this exact scenario on more than one occasion and justified it by casting it off as anything but serious? — but you hold your tongue, doing your best to exhale your excitement evenly so as not to raise Spencer’s suspicion.</p><p class="p1">Instead, you simply hum a light sound of contentment, concentrating on the way Spencer’s nails continue on with scribbling nonsense over your bare skin. “What would you do if I said no?”</p><p class="p1">“Considering I’ve seen what you do to men who don’t respect boundaries,” he laughs, capturing your hand with his free one, “I’d ask you what I could do to make you more comfortable.” He brings it up to his mouth before running the backs of your knuckles against it, smiling into the kiss all the while. “So… are you saying no?”</p><p class="p1">You shake your head, letting your eyes slip closed as you continue forcing steady breaths in and out of your lungs. The weight of Spencer’s arms over your body is an added comfort, and between that and the blanket he’d covered the both of you with, you manage to calm down just the tiniest bit more. “No, Spencer, I’m not saying no.”</p><p class="p1">“But…?” he prompts, and you don’t need to look to know that he’s arching a playful brow at you, in the same way that you don’t have to concentrate especially hard to know that, judging by his tone of voice, he’s only halfway joking. “You can tell me if something’s bothering you, you know.” His fingers continue traveling over the skin of your back, and you can’t help but give a subconscious shiver in response. “I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to fix it.”</p><p class="p1">You open your mouth to make some noncommittal response dripping with sarcasm, but cut yourself off at the last second with the weight of the epiphany that suddenly strikes your mind. “Hang on a second,” you command him as you raise your head, fixing him with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Spencer Reid, are you <em>profiling </em>me?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” he counters, nearly managing to pull an innocent mask of composure in place quickly enough for it to escape your notice, “I’m just making an observation.” But you can hear the hesitation in his voice, in the same way you can see it in the way his eyes wander in search of the correct thing to say. “You just don’t seem quite as happy as I imagined you’d be after we… I just want to make sure you’re good.”</p><p class="p1">And you want to lean into him, then, for caring about you enough to ask what he was, and for looking at you like he’d be willing to change the world for you as long as you only asked first. You want to roll your eyes at your own intrinsic overreaction and let yourself exhale your worries into the base of Spencer’s shoulder as you relish the feeling of his arms cradling you, the sheer insanity of the fact that he was actually here in your bed rendering you little more than a giggling, affectionate idiot. You want to kiss him again, just to prove that you can, and you want to let your eyes slip closed as his fingers continue painting pictures over the expanse of your back.</p><p class="p1">You want to.</p><p class="p1">But you can’t.</p><p class="p1">“Is this about what happened at the end?”</p><p class="p1">Your blood turns to ice in your veins, and it’s all you can do not to let your mouth drop open in shock. To your detriment, you’ve always been good at jumping to conclusions. It isn’t always a bad thing, and it’s a skill that’s saved yourself and countless others would-be victims for as long as you’ve been partaking in your vigilantism, but you’re just barely hanging on to your rational side by more than a few frayed threads, and you know making assumptions now is guaranteed to do more harm than good. If ever there was a time to tread cautiously around Spencer — more for your sake — it was now.</p><p class="p1">So you simply blink, feigning as much indifference as you possibly can, hoping Spencer hasn’t already figured out that he only needs to look deep enough into your eyes to discover just how frazzled you’re actually feeling. “Well there were a few things that happened, Spencer, so I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.”</p><p class="p1">“Look, I know I got a little carried away,” Spencer tells you, gingerly reaching to tuck the hair falling into your face behind your ear. “I’m sorry for that, if it caught you off guard. It’s just, it’s been… a little while, for me, since I’ve been with anyone. It won’t— it doesn’t always have to be like that.”</p><p class="p1">You arch a brow, attempting to make sense of all the words tumbling out of his mouth in an oddly charming apologetic rush, though the more progress you think you’ve made, the more you realize your mind is simply performing mental gymnastics to try and piece it all together. “Spencer, I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p class="p1">“The choking, mostly,” he supplies, and it’s a testament to the difference between your emotional situations, you’re pretty sure, that he’s able to admit that as easily as he’s able to breathe. He has no qualms about getting straight to the issue, as has always been the case for as long as you’ve known him, and your mind cycles rapidly between being impressed and jealous. “I know it’s different, and probably… <em>not… </em>what you were expecting from me—“</p><p class="p1">“It was fine,” you interject, but Spencer seems determined to get the words out of his mouth.</p><p class="p1">“—and I know that, you know, statistically speaking about sixty five percent of women fantasize about being dominated by their sexual partner than the other way around—“</p><p class="p1">“Spencer, it wasn’t <em>bad</em>—“</p><p class="p1">“—and, actually, provided we end up in this situation again and you’re open to it, I wouldn’t mind trying—“</p><p class="p1">“Spencer,” you try again, pressing a finger to his lip in effort to get him to stop talking. When he falls silent, you level his gaze with your own, pouring as much sincerity into your stare as you can manage. “I <em>liked</em> choking you. Okay? I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t like it.” And, just to prove your point — because you’re much more stubborn than you are willing to fall victim to your own paranoia, though you know you can’t entirely escape that either — you lean forward and press your mouth squarely to his throat. “I wouldn’t have done <em>you </em>if I didn’t like you.”</p><p class="p1">He pauses, then, and looks down at you with narrowed eyes, mouth opening and closing as he decides whether to move forward with asking what he clearly wants to. “So then what’s bothering you?”</p><p class="p1">“Nothing’s—“</p><p class="p1">“Something’s bothering you,” Spencer states, making it evident that he’s not about to leave any room for protests. It would be pointless, in any case— arguing with Spencer always ends the same way, no matter what the subject of the conversation is. That was something you’d learned quite early on in the arrangement of your relationship. “You tensed up when I asked about what happened at the end, and you’re deflecting from answering my questions. Something’s bothering you.”</p><p class="p1">The thought of concealing your feelings from him crosses your mind, but you shoot the idea down before it has much of a chance to grow. Your punishment for being so intimately involved with a profiler, of all people — Spencer knows when you’re telling a lie in just the same way he knows how to make you moan in pleasure. “You didn’t say anything back.”</p><p class="p1">Spencer tilts his head, an endearing v of confusion forming between his furrowed brows. “To what?”</p><p class="p1">And you can’t decide if it’s a slap in the face, that he’s forcing you to admit your vulnerability out loud. You don’t want to think it is — Spencer isn’t cruel, or malicious, or sadistic in any way that actually counts as meaningful. He’d always been kind to you; a little offhanded and aloof, sure, and there had been those few nights of meeting up with him when he’d simply lacked the capacity to deal with your heavy flirtation and flippant manner, but he’d also never once left you to find your own way home in the dark and cold of the nights, in the after, and had always ensured you were fed before you did so. No one like that — kind, thoughtful, even to those who annoyed and irritated them — no one like that would go out of their way to be overly cruel in this instance.</p><p class="p1">So you suck it up, steal a large breath, and scrounge for the courage to say what you mean for once.</p><p class="p1">“I told you I loved you,” you force out, suddenly unable to keep your eyes locked on his. You don’t know why shame burns in your chest and rises like bile in your throat. You don’t want to be embarrassed, and you know Spencer wouldn’t want you to be either, if he’d meant even half of the things he’d said to you tonight, but you just can’t seem to help it, and your cheeks grow warmer and warmer as a result. “And you didn’t say it back. Which is fine, Spencer, really, because I shouldn’t have said it in the first place, and I don’t— I don’t even know if I actually meant it, but it would have been nice for you to… I don’t know, address it? Just as the bare minimum? Just so I didn’t have to sit there for the last five minutes feeling like an idiot?”</p><p class="p1">It’s Spencer’s turn to freeze with fear, mouth opening and closing as he processes your speech and attempts to string together an adequate response. You might actually have laughed at how caught off guard he looks, if you weren’t currently in the middle of having an emotional breakdown. “I didn’t— I didn’t hear you say that.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay, Spencer,” you snap, rolling your eyes as you pull back from his body and sit up, “I’m a big girl. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”</p><p class="p1">“No, I’m not—“ He exhales in frustration, reaching out to grasp at your arm and keep you from turning away from him, but stopping at the last moment. You can’t tell him, but for that, you’re thankful. Your mind is already so scattered, between the embarrassment of vulnerability and the irritation of your defensiveness. Adding his touch to the mix would only ensure things got worse for you. “I didn’t hear you, I swear. I wouldn’t lie about that. When did you—?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, you know,” you answer dryly, horrified to find the stinging burn of tears pricking at your lash line. “Right before I got you off.” You don’t like how mean the words taste rolling off your tongue, but you can’t help them now that you’ve set them in motion. “Honestly, I kind of thought that was what made you cum in the first place, all things considered.” And you don’t know whether it’s the humiliation of having made a big scene about all of this when Spencer had had no idea what you were talking about, or the fact that he <em>genuinely </em>hadn’t heard you moaning words of love into his ear as you’d both crested into euphoria at the same time, but you feel yourself continuing to build up your walls of defense. It’s the only thing you know how to do to preserve yourself. It’s the only thing you <em>can </em>do.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry,” Spencer tells you. He means it — that’s plain as day, and evident in the way his voice drops down to little more than a murmur — but you’re too far gone now. “Really, I didn’t— I didn’t hear. I swear I didn’t.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s fine either way,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest like a protective blanket. “I’m just trying to say that I don’t have any delusions.” You hate that the words roll off your tongue in the same way an admission of guilt would, almost as much as you hate how small and vulnerable Spencer’s gaze leaves you feeling. Part of you almost wishes he’d look away, have the decency to spare you the embarrassment. The other, bigger part, stupid with naivety, wishes for something that you know can never be possible.</p><p class="p1">“Delusions about what?” Spencer asks, the gears turning in his head practically becoming visible. “About me? About us… being together?”</p><p class="p1">“About us <em>sleeping</em> together,” you snap, unable to keep the bitterness from leaching into your tone. “About you escorting me back to my apartment after witnessing a mental breakdown where I almost beat a man to death and fucking me senseless to make me <em>feel</em> better. I mean, that’s what this was, right? You felt bad for me so you thought you’d finally give in and make it worth both our whiles? Come on, Spencer, we’re not <em>teenagers</em>. I’m not going to lay down and fade away into nothing just because you don’t like me back.”</p><p class="p1">Spencer eyes you gently. Carefully. As if you’re a book he’s reading printed in soft, fuzzy ink, the words of which are liable to smudge into nonsense if he looks too hard. He wants to say something; you can tell by the way he opens his mouth, but closes it once more just as soon as he does, mirrored in the way his hand reaches for you before falling back to his side. You aren’t sure what’s more pathetic — the fact that you’d even bothered to notice, or the fact that you’d have found quite a bit of comfort in that offered touch.</p><p class="p1">Silence thrives between the two of you for another two minutes, thick and stifling and increasing the difficulty of drawing in breath. For all your talk of you and Spencer not being teenagers, it’s incredibly embarrassing how juvenile you feel, timidly wrapped in the embrace of your own arms as you wait for his inevitable rejection. Because a rejection <em>would</em> come. They always had, over the last few years of openly teasing and flirting, and they always would. That wouldn’t change just because the two of you had finally—</p><p class="p1">“I wouldn’t have kissed you.”</p><p class="p1">The words break you out of your ridiculously dramatic melancholic spiral, though that’s <em>all</em> they do as your mind attempts to process both their meaning and the fact that Spencer’s spoken them. You can still see him watching you with that all too cautious look in his eyes, and though the thought of Spencer tiptoeing around you to save your feelings should irk you, you can’t help but find some odd sort of comfort in it.</p><p class="p1">“What?” you ask, blinking as you try to make sense of the words.</p><p class="p1">“You said I didn’t like you back,” Spencer explains, hand reaching toward you once more. When it’s clear you don’t intend to shy away from his touch, he lets his palm find an innocent home at your knee. “But that’s not true, and I know it’s not, because if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have kissed you. That’s… not something I’d do with someone I didn’t like. Not by choice, anyway.”</p><p class="p1">It seems too easy. So easy, in fact, that your mind can’t talk itself into leaving well enough alone. You know you could — and, realistically, you probably <em>should </em>— let it all go then and there. Spencer’s offering you an out, a way to skirt around the uncomfortable aspects of such an intimate situation. The wise thing to do, you know, would be to take it. To simply lay back down with him and let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as the breeze of his breath carries you safely into unconsciousness.</p><p class="p1">Unfortunately, you never <em>have </em>been much for taking the easy way out.</p><p class="p1">“So you’re not… uncomfortable?” you question, scanning his face for any and all signs of contradiction. Of the two of you, Spencer might have been the profiler, but you were just as adept at reading people. Or, more accurately, you were just as adept at reading <em>him. </em>“The fact that I told you I loved you while I was riding you into the sunset just doesn’t phase you in the slightest? You’re not freaked out, or confused, or… fuck, I don’t know, mad at me?”</p><p class="p1">Spencer blinks, tilting his head to the side. “Did you <em>want </em>me to be?”</p><p class="p1">Well, it would certainly make figuring out how you were meant to respond to this situation easier, if nothing else. Anger you knew how to deal with. Disappointment, irritation, a tidal wave of fear big enough to make someone cut and run for the hills as fast as they could <em>just </em>to get away from you — those were all things you were capable of handling. Coincidentally enough, though, none of those were things that Spencer appeared to be regarding you with. You were going to have to come up with some new skills, it seemed, and fast.</p><p class="p1">“No, I don’t,” you tell him truthfully, reaching up to run a hand through the wild tangle of your hair. You can only imagine what you must look like right now, all red rimmed eyes, kiss swollen lips, and flushed skin. You hope the reality is somewhat more enticing than the image in your head. “I just… those were big words I used. And, like I said, I’m still not one hundred percent sure I meant them, but I really… I really don’t want you to start acting weird because of it. And I know <em>that </em>doesn’t make any sense either because obviously I’m the one freaking out, so—“</p><p class="p1">Spencer interrupts you by reaching down and grasping your hand with his, offering your palm a gentle squeeze before, for the second time in the night, raising it to his mouth in effort to run a sweet kiss over the backs of your knuckles. “People say things in the moment,” he murmurs against your hand, dotting another kiss to your knuckles before pressing them to his cheek. “Sometimes they mean it, sometimes they don’t. I’m not planning to hold it against you either way.”</p><p class="p1">“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head and squeezing your eyes shut as you fight off the last of your residual panic. There’s no reason to hold onto it, not as the tears trail down your cheeks, and as Spencer reaches up with his free hand to do away with the last of them, you let the rest of your despair flow away. “So you’re not freaking out, and I’m going to stop freaking out. Can we just... can we lay back down? And just pretend like... I don’t know, like this is normal? Like you and I are normal?”</p><p class="p1">The thought is a laughable one. Nothing about either of you is normal, not with Spencer’s genius mind and your penchant for illegally incapacitating criminals, or any of the other hundreds of things that set both of you apart from normalcy. Yet, even knowing that, it doesn’t stop Spencer’s eyes from softening in a way you’re damn near positive you’ve never seen before.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, slowly drawing you back into his embrace. The heat of his skin lends comfort to yours, and as you allow him to settle his arms around your waist as he lays the both of you back down, you can feel the beat of your heart syncing up to his. “Yeah, okay. Let’s be normal.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>